Loveinidleness
by TheHummingbirdMoth
Summary: Thor has always had more sense than self-control. Thor/Loki, somnophilia.


WARNING: Non-con. Incest. Somnophilia. General squick and creepiness. This categorised as a romance, and it's not meant to be a romance.

Written for the Thor kink meme on livejournal.

**Love-in-idleness**

_Fetch me that flower, the herb I showed thee once:  
>The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid<br>Will make or man or woman madly dote  
>Upon the next live creature that it sees.<em>

His brother sleeps like the dead.

Once, Thor had thought that he was dead. Crawling into his bed in the middle of the night after a bad dream (no one but Loki knows Thor has bad dreams, night terrors so vivid that they can only be ameliorated by the sound of his younger brother's voice making mockery of his fears and telling him ridiculous stories in the dead of night) Thor had laid his hand upon Loki's shoulder to wake him, hoping to hear the tale of the eagle and the goat again, and had found the flesh beneath his fingers as cold as ice.

He'd waken Loki up with his screaming, and had refused to let his brother sleep alone for many nights after, lest he grow cold like that again.

(It is only years later that Thor will learn of frost giants and their tendency to hibernate through the iciest of winters, and of the way their hearts pump blood so slowly when they do this that they appear to be lumps of ice, and it is only many, many years after that Thor will finally connect the dots, and realise that, while you can disguise a frost giant as an Asgardian, forcing said frost giant to adapt to Asgardian seasonal rhythms is another matter entirely.)

For the moment, all Thor knows is that sometimes, his brother will become strangely sluggish and blurry-eyed for several days in a row, and sometimes, he will fall into a strange, death-like slumber from which only physical pain or Thor's screams will wake him. He takes it for a sickness, and thinks no more of it.

After all, most of the time Loki is so energetic. Quiet, aye, but he can outrun boys and girls twice his size, and spends night after night scurrying about the palace after dark like a big mouse. Thor falls into bed at the end of a long day of sparring, training, riding and playing and is sound asleep as soon as his head hits the pillows. Once or twice, he wakes in the middle of the night to find his brother sitting at the edge of the bed, fully dressed, reading a book by candlelight, or practicing incantations under his breath.

Only every now and then, when this strange torpor hits, does Thor worry. He does not understand sickness, does not want to face the possibility that his bright, wicked little brother is weaker than he.

After all, they are brothers. They're supposed to be equal in everything.

Today they have been hunting, there is a bitter chill in the air, and Thor thinks he may have led them too far. Loki's feet drag upon the ground and his speech, when Thor can coax him to speech, slurs obviously.

"We will make camp," Thor decides, as he always decides such things. They are currently seventeen and sixteen respectively, and the way it is supposed to work is this; Thor will make a decision, announce his decision, Loki will agree, then, in his gentle, persuasive voice, suggest that maybe some other course of action would be advisable. Thor will snort, and ignore him, and ten minutes later he will find that he has done exactly what Loki suggested he do.

Today, Loki barely nods, dropping his pack against a tree; the sudden loss of weight almost makes him lose his balance, and he steadies himself against a tree. Thor, watching all this from the corner of his eye, frowns, but says nothing, watching his brother's face. Against the bark, he can see Loki's heavy eyelids drop, pinpoints the moment his brother loses the battle to exhaustion.

Stepping quickly, Thor reaches his brother just in time to steady him, and then to catch him as he sags backwards, knees collapsing like a cotton doll's.

"Sssh," he murmurs in Loki's ear, and his brother's green eyes flutter and he gives a feeble grunt. "Rest. We will move again at sunrise."

But Loki is deep asleep before he even finishes the sentence.

0

An hour later, with the fire casting shadows on their camp, Thor tries not to watch his brother rest.

If only he would snore. Or fart in his sleep as Hogun does. But he makes no sound, doesn't even seem to be breathing. He may well be dead. Thor shivers, and takes his brother's hand between his own, knowing it won't wake him.

Then he does something that makes him very ashamed. If Odin knew, he would… Thor can not even think of what Odin would do. Kill him. Disown him. Blood eagle him, and worse.

He crouches down over Loki, who is lying on his back. Thor's breath mists in the air; no such mist hovers above Loki's face. Thor presses two fingers down on his jugular, waits, waits, and shudders with relief to feel a pulse.

Not enough.

He slaps Loki's cheek, gently, hoping to draw colour into them. Nothing. He slaps again, still nothing.

Ah. But.

It can't be wrong. They've done it before, haven't they? He wouldn't mind.

Surely.

His brother's lips are thin, cold but also very soft.

Lying against his chest, Thro can hear his heartbeat. He keeps his ear pressed against that heartbeat as he undoes the buckle on Loki's belt.

His cock- thank Bor- heats up and hardens under Thor's touch.

"Love you," Thor mumbles, licking Loki's neck. What was his brother dreaming about? he wondered, reaching up to cradle his skull. Stroking his hair.

He is aching, but he ignores it. He could care less about his own pleasure at the moment. Later, later, when they are home and warm and Loki is alive again. For now… this is fine.

Without ever stirring or making a sound, Loki comes into Thor's hand. Satisfied, Thor licks it off, then, as an afterthought, dabs some onto Loki's frozen cheek. Lovely.

"So lovely," he murmurs, snuffling into his neck.

Will Loki wake up in the morning? he wonders. Or will this be more like the last time, when he had slept for two whole days before waking? It matters not. Thor will stay here, by his side, whether it be a matter of hours or a matter of millennia.

And Loki won't mind, to wakeup to find his brother clinging to him, seed smeared over his face and Thor's warm, living sweat seeping into his skin. Surely.

He didn't mind the last time.

00000

(Shakespeare referred to pansies as 'love-in-idleness'. In Midsummer Night's Dream, Puck used pansies on Titania while she slept.)


End file.
